


Adulthood Is Just A Myth

by noxlunate



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 20 Somethings, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Avengers Family, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minor Angst, Misunderstandings, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Skinny Steve, being an adult is hard, hangovers, softstuckyweek2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:17:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8893909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlunate/pseuds/noxlunate
Summary: “Next time you try and get me to come out with you I’m staying home and working on commissions. Like a responsible adult.” Steve swears, fully intending to follow through. 
   The next weekend when Bucky tells Steve he’s coming out with him, Steve does. Aka labeling it as friends with benefits doesn’t hide the fact that you’ve got massive heart boners for each other





	

**Author's Note:**

> Vague inspiration taken from Iliza Shlesinger’s bit about the party goblin

 

Pain. There is only pain. Pain and the taste of death in Steve’s mouth and something suspiciously sticky in the crease where his arm is bent over his eyes to block out the horror that is the sun. 

Steve’s pretty sure this is what death feels like. 

He groans, sure that the  _ afterlife  _ can feel his misery right then, and sniffs cautiously at his arm to try and identify what the hell happened last night. 

It smells like cake flavored vodka.  _ Oh god.  _

Nothing good ever comes of cake flavored vodka.

He attempts to roll off the couch (why is he on the  _ couch _ ? He almost always makes it to a bed, even while drunk) and into a standing position and fails spectacularly, slumping onto the ground instead. His head pounds like it’s about to split itself open and he decides he’s just going to stay there. Forever. With his face smashed into the carpet the way it is he might actually suffocate, so forever doesn’t sound too long to wait. 

There’s a snuffling, wounded sound from above him and Steve turns his head just enough to look up at the couch he was just inhabiting. 

Oh. Awesome. Somehow he’d passed out literally  _ on top  _ of Bucky last night. 

Steve flails a hand up to poke at Bucky’s side, getting only a grunt from the other man. 

“Never. Drinking. Again.” Steve says solemnly and squints up at his hand, taking in the smudged patchwork of entry stamps. There’s at least three that he has very little recollection of getting. He half wants to text Natasha to find out what all they did last night, and is half scared to check his phone.  

“You say that every time.” Bucky grumbles and wiggles around until he’s on his stomach and his right arm hangs off the couch so that he can pat at Steve’s head clumsily.  

“I mean it this time.” Steve takes a very brief moment to enjoy the patting before he fumbles into his pocket for his phone. There’s a wave of relief when he sees that the thing didn’t get cracked spending the night in his back pocket, followed by dismay when he sees the time and his inbox blown up with messages. “No wonder I feel like shit, we slept past 6 pm. Your next birthday is being celebrated with way less booze.” 

“This was an important birthday Stevie. A milestone. It required booze.” Bucky already seems to be losing a little bit of his misery and Steve glares at him because that’s just not  _ fair.  _ Bucky should be at least half as miserable as Steve is right now. 

“I don’t think there’s anything important about 25, Buck.” 

“25 is a quarter of a century. You can’t tell me that reaching a quarter of a century isn’t important.” 

“Can. Will.” Steve says, scrolling through his messages with absolute trepidation. Oh God, someone created a group text with  _ pictures.  _ The most recent looks like it was taken at a drag club and Steve’s wrapped up in a feather boa that presumably belongs to the drag queen who’s making out with him. 

Another picture pings through while Bucky makes an indignant noise. It’s of the group from last night, minus Natasha, on the smoker’s patio. Steve is sitting a strategic distance from the smoke and the drag queen from the previous picture is doing Steve’s makeup while Bucky watches, a tiara that proclaims he’s the “Birthday Princess” perched jauntily on his head. Steve doesn’t even want to know if the makeup is still there, but judging by how clumpy his eyes feel, it probably is.

“You know nothing, Steve Rogers.” Bucky says before he slides off the couch and onto Steve. Steve oofs, goes boneless and presses the side of his face into the carpet again, uncaring that it’s shitty carpeting with stains from possibly unknown substances. Steve has a very strict rule on not questioning certain things about their apartment, not with how cheap the rent is. 

“You’re an asshole. And you’re suffocating me.” 

“Am not.” Bucky says, even as he rolls off of Steve and squishes himself in the space between Steve and the coffee table. 

“I think we’re officially too old to be waking up smelling like bad booze and stale bong water.” 

“Lies. We’re never too old to wake up smelling like bad booze and stale bong water, Steven.” 

“I am. I really am. Next time you try and get me to come out with you I’m staying home and working on commissions. Like a responsible adult.” Steve swears, fully intending to follow through. 

 

The next weekend when Bucky tells Steve he’s coming out with him, Steve does. He swears he’s only having a couple drinks, he’s going to be a responsible 24 year old adult. 

They start out at a hole in the wall place that Natasha found sometime last year. They play awful music, but it’s never too loud and they have pitchers of beer that are so cheap that Steve occasionally suspects the place is a cover operation for something illegal. He doesn’t question it the same way no one ever questions when Natasha disappears for two weeks for “work.” There are some things he just doesn’t need to know. 

Bucky and Sam arrive at the table their group generally corrals with three pitchers of beer and glasses for everyone.

Sam looks vaguely irritated by Bucky’s very presence. 

Bucky looks smug. 

So really, all is as it should be in the world. 

Wanda, Natasha, and Clint are already at the table, and apparently Sharon’s on her way. According to Clint, everyone else is too lame and too busy to make it. 

“We bring the gift of alcohol.” Bucky proclaims before flopping into the seat next to Steve. 

“ _ We  _ my ass.” Sam grumbles as he slides into the booth. “I paid for this round, there’s no ‘we’ about it.” 

“Shhhh, shhh. It’s my birthday.” Bucky says, reaching across the table like he’s going to press one finger to Sam’s mouth in a shushing gesture but apparently thinking better of it when Sam literally snaps his teeth. Bucky and Nat have already downed shots before Sam and Wanda arrived and Bucky’s already a little flushed, while Natasha looks stone cold sober.  

“Your birthday was a week ago, you can’t use it as an excuse anymore.” Nat points out as she starts pouring out the beer. 

“It’s no use, he’s always been this way. It’s always an entire month dedicated to ‘but it’s my birthday.’” Steve says and gives a little salute of thanks when Nat passes him a glass of beer. 

“My condolences for having to deal with him as long as you have.” She says solemnly, eyes bright and amused as she utterly ignores Bucky’s indignant “ _ Hey!”  _

Steve shrugs and glances at Bucky like he’s eying him up. “Eh, it’s not always that bad. There’s _ some _ perks.” 

“Like my dick.” Bucky jokes with a waggle of his eyebrows and earns groans from both Sam and Steve. 

“Men,” Wanda says, shaking her head at them, “You always have to bring it back around to your penises.” 

“Don’t lump us all in with this asshole, c’mon.” Sam looks a little petulant, always dismayed to be lumped into  _ anything  _ with Bucky. Steve’ll never understand their friendship because most the time it seems like they genuinely can’t stand each other, but he’s also seen them go to bat for each other. Hell, year after year Bucky’s still included in the invitation to Sam’s Friendsgiving. Sam doesn’t willingly feed people if he doesn’t like them. 

Bucky flips Sam off, but before he can open his mouth to say anything Sharon arrives like an angel sent from above. 

“Sorry I’m late, traffic.” She grimaces at the word ‘traffic’, like it’s something truly and deeply terrible, climbing over Buck and Steve to sit in the curved section of the u shaped booth with Wanda and Natasha. 

“You could fix that problem by just not driving. Stevie and I do just fine without it.” 

“It works just fine because you never go further north than the Seventh Avenue Express can take you.” 

“Why would I ever want to go farther than that?” Bucky asks, all wide eyes and faux confused nose scrunch. Steve’s fingers itch to capture it on paper. “I’m pretty sure everything past that is just barren wasteland, Sharon.” 

“ _ Anyways, _ ” Sharon says, turning her direct attention off of Bucky and onto her beer. “Someone should do a study on whether he gets more obnoxious when Tony’s not here, like he somehow feels the need to pick up the slack because I feel like that’s a real possibility.” 

Sam laughs like Sharon’s hilarious, looking at her like she hung the moon.

Bucky mutters “ _ Least subtle dude ever.”  _ and Steve has to hide his smile in Bucky’s shoulder. 

——

“Why do we always end up at a gay club?” Clint asks about an hour and a half later when they’ve moved on from the bar. 

“Who here would consider themselves completely, 100% heterosexual?” Steve asks, looking around the group with raised eyebrows. Clint is the only one to raise his hand. “There’s your answer.” 

Nat passes around shots and by now Steve’s drank enough that he accepts it without any thought of his promise to himself that he wasn’t going to drink much. Bucky had goaded him past that at least a half hour ago. 

Time has taken on that weird, unknowable feeling it gets when a person hits the right level of drunk and before Steve really knows it, Bucky is dragging him onto the dance floor. 

“I don’t know how to dance!” Steve protests, which is only half true. A sober Steve has absolutely no ability to dance, and a drunken Steve isn’t that much better, but what’s happening on the dance floor isn’t so much dancing as  _ grinding. _ Drunk Steve is more than capable of that.

Bucky who is apparently having none of Steve’s shit, ignores Steve’s protests and tugs him into the crowd of writhing bodies. Steve ends up with his back pressed to Bucky’s front, the taller man’s hands hot on his hips, guiding them to the beat of some EDM remix of a pop song that Steve can’t quite identify. 

It’s hard to pick out his friends, but Steve can spot Nat and Sharon in a similar position not too far away, and it looks like Clint is leading Wanda around in what looks vaguely like a waltz that in no way matches up to the music. He doesn’t see Sam, but he’s sure the man’s been stuck with everyone’s stuff, having been nominated the Mom Friend for the night. No doubt Natasha will eventually relieve him and send him off to Sharon, if only because she gets some sort of sadistic joy out of watching people trip all over themselves. 

“Stop thinking.” Bucky says, his mouth is hot against Steve’s ear and it sends a shiver up his spine. 

Steve decides to forgo being stubborn. Instead, he tips his head back against Bucky’s shoulder and actually listens for once. 

——

They do this sometimes. Not all the time, but  _ sometimes  _ (often), and Steve’s convinced himself it doesn’t mean anything. Sometimes, Steve’ll lean a little bit closer, angle his head up towards Bucky just a little more than usual and Bucky’ll close the distance. 

They’ll fall into bed, both clumsy and a little reckless from the alcohol but it’ll be so  _ easy.  _ Bucky’ll laugh and rain kisses on Steve’s face and Steve’ll soak them up, light up like Bucky’s his own personal sun. 

And it’s not- It doesn’t mean anything, Steve knows that. They’re friends,  _ best friends,  _ and neither of them is willing to ever fuck that up by falling _ in love  _ with each other. They’re just friends who have sex when they get drunk (and sometimes when they’re not but they don’t talk about that.) But sometimes (All of the time) Steve looks at Bucky after and he can’t seem to stop the way the sight of him almost feels like a punch to the gut. 

So when Bucky pushes Steve up against the door of their apartment later that night (probably, technically, the next morning) Steve twists his fingers tight into Bucky’s hair and kisses him hard and dirty. He scrapes his teeth along Bucky’s jaw. Bites a mark into his throat and hopes it lasts. 

“You were so fuckin hot tonight, Stevie. Wanted to get you in my bed for  _ hours.”  _ Bucky breathes, eyes blown wide and mouth already slick and red. He’s so beautiful it makes Steve feel like he can’t breathe. 

“Yeah? Well you should get on with that then.” Steve says and pushes Bucky towards his bedroom.

—— 

Steve went to school for art. He spent tens of thousands of dollars and is trapped in a massive pile of debt so that he could go to school for  _ art.  _ He thinks sometimes, that the bitter pill of the cost of his education would be easier to swallow if he was actually doing something substantial with his art. 

Instead, he spends 8 hours a day in an office doing  _ advertising.  _ Which, yes, is what he’d consider somewhat art adjacent but it still isn’t at all what he’d ever imagined himself doing with his life. He knows he’s lucky to have a job that doesn’t involve french fry grease, and he does enough commissions on the side to feel like he’s doing  _ something,  _ but he can’t help but feel a little jaded about it all sometimes. 

He’d always wanted to make a difference, to fight for what he thought mattered, and to express that in his art. Instead he helps come up with ways to make people buy things and spends his spare time painting portraits of old people’s pets. Not that that’s actually all his commissions usually are, but sometimes it feels like it. 

Steve’s phone buzzes with a text, distracting him from his mental bitchfest. He thumbs past the lock screen and opens up the text from Bucky. 

_ ’Natasha and Clint’s. Group dinner. Tonight. You have no choice but to come.’  _

_ ‘I could ACTUALLY say no, ya know?’  _

_ ’Nope. You can’t. I’m meeting you when you get off and we’ll head over together. There’s no denying Natasha, you know this.’  _

_ ‘Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you later.’  _

When Steve gets off work hours later Bucky’s there like he said he would be, chatting up the desk attendant in the lobby while he waits for Steve. 

Steve feels better just  _ looking  _ at him. 

He rolls his eyes when Bucky ruffles his hair and calls him “Stevie”, but when Bucky wraps an arm around his shoulders, he leans into his side easily and lets Bucky lead him out the door. 

——

Nat and Clint’s apartment in BedStuy  _ technically  _ only houses Nat and Clint, according to Clint. The reality of the situation though, is that it houses Nat, Clint, Clint’s dog Lucky that Clint insists is  _ not  _ his dog, and Wanda and Pietro. 

No one’s quite sure how Wanda and Pietro ended up there. Part because the details of the situation seem to change with every telling, and part because they have some weird dedication to cultivating a Mysterious Eastern European Persona. Despite that they’re all pretty sure the gist of it was that Clint found Pietro having an issue with the tracksuit mafia, and he and Wanda ended up coming as a package deal because of  _ serious _ twin codependency issues. 

Sam has told Bucky and Steve both that they’re not allowed to pass any judgement on codependency. 

Steve figures that Sam has a point there. 

When Bucky and Steve stumble in, the Barton-Romanov home is in it’s natural state, loud and chaotic. 

Sharon, Nat, Sam and Rhodey are in the kitchen, where they’re all supposedly cooking. Sharon can’t exactly cook, and Nat can probably do anything she’d like to do but chooses not to do anything involving cooking. That means Sam and Rhodey are the ones actually cooking while Nat and Sharon sit perched on the counter, watching.Thor’s in town, which means he’s having an overly boisterous conversation with Clint and Pietro, while Jane, Tony, and Bruce all sit on the floor around the coffee table doing what Steve can only assume is Jane and Tony trying to outsmart each other while Bruce does his best to mediate. 

Steve breathes in the chaos and the weird feeling of home it always brings to be in the tiny space, surrounded by almost all of their friend group. 

They find a spot on the couch where Darcy is seated, Wanda on a pillow on the floor between her legs while Darcy weaves Wanda’s hair into some complicated looking hairdo. Wanda’s holding her cell phone in her hands with a tutorial playing on it, angled up towards Darcy, but Darcy seems to be alternating her attention between it, Wanda’s hair, and the increasingly loud conversation going on at the coffee table. 

Steve gets tugged into Bucky’s lap and settles himself there, because space is extremely limited when there’s so many people crammed into a tiny Brooklyn apartment so it’s perfectly acceptable to sit in his best friend’s lap. Right? Right.  

“What’s the fight about?” Steve asks, taking hold of a comb and a bundle of hair ties when Darcy passes them to him. 

“Fuck if I know. You need a PHD to understand them when they get like this.” Darcy plucks one of the hair ties out of Steve’s fingers and uses it to tie off one of the braids. 

“Poor Bruce.” Bucky’s tone is all sympathy but when Steve glances at his face his lips are twitching like he’s amused. 

“We bring it on ourselves by being friends with Tony.” Pepper appears seemingly out of nowhere (though probably not out of nowhere. Probably Steve was too distracted by the general chaos, and maybe a little bit by Bucky’s hand on his hip, to notice.) 

“I didn’t do it willingly, I was coerced.” Steve says seriously before everything goes to absolute  _ chaos  _ (Even more than normal) when Sam says “Alright motherfuckers, dinner’s done.” 

You’d think with everyone being adults it’d be a little more ordered, but no. 

——

Steve remembers the first time he and Bucky started this, whatever  _ this  _ is. They’d experimented before, but it’d been as awkward teenagers and firmly placed under the category of “Teenage Experimentation” by the both of them. 

(By Bucky. Because Steve remembers being 14 years old and looking at Bucky and feeling like his heart was going to explode so it was never  _ just  _ teenage experimentation, despite the fact that he’d agreed when Bucky leaned in like he was going to kiss Steve and said “Just, y’know, for practice, right?”) 

_ This  _ though, this friends-with-benefits, sleeping with each other when they’re single and pretending it’s just something friends do  _ thing  _ started around the time Peggy had looked at Steve and said “Steve, Darling, you know I love you right?” and followed it up with “I just think we might work better as friends. There’s just something missing, isn’t there?” 

It’d been true. Steve’d loved Peggy, still loves Peggy, thinks she’s one of the best people he’s ever met, but there’d always been something that just wasn’t  _ there.  _ Peggy’d been right, like she’s always right.

Peggy being right hadn’t stopped it from hurting.

He’d ended up moping enough that Bucky had dragged him out, gotten them both wasted and when they’d gotten home and Bucky’d kissed him, mumbled “You just need to stop thinking about it. I know a great distraction.” against his mouth, well, Steve hadn’t exactly been in his rational mind right then. He’d  _ wanted.  _ He’d  _ always  _ wanted. He’d wanted enough that it was so fucking easy to take whatever he could get and start this  _ thing  _ between him and Bucky. He’d just do it while he was hurting and then he and Bucky could go back to being strictly platonic. 

It couldn’t be that hard, right? 

Right.

That’d been four years ago, and they’re still doing whatever it is they started way back then. 

——

“Steve.” 

Steve tunes out the sound of Bucky’s voice. 

“Steeeeve.” 

“No.” 

He’s not giving in. He’s  _ just  _ gotten set up to work on a commission of Mrs Krakowski’s Pekingese Shih Tzu mix, he’s not stopping now. 

“I haven’t even asked you anything.” 

Steve hasn’t even looked at Bucky and he can  _ feel  _ the pout. 

“Whatever it is, no.” 

“C’mon Stevie, I’m bored. Help an ol’ pal out.” It’s not  _ quite  _ whining, but it’s something close. 

Steve resolves to hold firm, but Bucky’s already draping himself over Steve’s back, arms wrapping around Steve’s stomach and Steve can already feel his resolve cracking just the slightest bit. 

“Buck, c’mon, I’m tryin’ to work. I have to get this done.” 

“I know for a fact that you’ve got weeks to finish this.” Bucky argues, nudging his nose into the side of Steve’s throat. 

“Yeah, this among  _ other things.  _ And I’ve got to do my  _ actual _ job in the meantime, too.” He’s reforming his resolve, building it up as much as possible. He will not be broken by Bucky’s hands, the way they slide up under Steve’s shirt, or by the way he scrapes his teeth over the side of Steve’s throat.  _ Jesus.  _

“I can guarantee I’m a lot more satisfying than a job well done.” Steve might not be able to see Bucky’s face, but he can practically  _ feel  _ the eyebrow waggle Bucky pairs with the words. 

“I hate you.” Steve says and turns in Bucky’s arms until he can loop his arms up around his best friend’s neck. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re all talk.” 

“Yeah, you gonna do anything about it?” Steve asks, fighting not to grin and jutting his chin up in challenge. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna shut you up.” Bucky does just that, dipping his head to draw Steve into a kiss. 

——

In June, Nat badgers Steve into letting her set him up. It feels like a flashback to a couple years ago before Natasha had apparently thrown up her hands in defeat and stopped trying. 

“When’s the last time you went on a date Steve?” Nat asks when Steve attempts to brush her off. When Steve doesn’t answer she smirks, already triumphant. “Exactly. You can’t even remember can you? It’s been at least six months, six months of you and Bucky doing whatever weird thing you’ve always been doing while you pine. You need a distraction.” 

Steve bristles, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t need a distraction. Besides, it’s perfectly normal not to date for a while.” He doesn’t bother denying the  _ whatever  _ with Bucky, knows better. Denial would only be seen as confirmation with Nat. 

“I’m not saying it’s not, but I know plenty of people you’d be great with. C’mon, just a couple dates. You know I’ll wear you down eventually.” 

And she will. Steve knows it. Steve’s stubborn, but Nat’s like a particularly hard headed dog with a bone. 

This is how Steve ends up on a series of dates with people who Nat won’t always clarify exactly how she met. They’re almost all horrible. There’s nothing, objectively, wrong with them. They just don’t  _ click,  _ and Steve leaves nearly all of them feeling a little like there might be something wrong with  _ him  _ that he’s happier sleeping with Bucky but not actually  _ having  _ him than he is going on dates with perfectly nice strangers. 

It’s not until he’s been on more than half a dozen dates that something happens that flares his sheer  _ Steveness  _ up enough that he actually  _ wants  _ to go on the dates. Of course, that thing happens to be Bucky. 

“How was your date?” Bucky asks after what feels like the 100th date that Nat’s managed to con Steve into going on. There’s an odd tone to Bucky’s voice, but it’s late and Steve’s tired so he doesn’t focus on it too much. He needs to pass out as soon as he possibly can if he wants to get enough sleep to actually focus at work the next day. 

“It wasn’t horrific, actually. This one was better than the last, at the very least.” Steve says, heading straight to his room to change. If Bucky wants to continue the conversation, he can follow. 

“Really?” Bucky asks, following after Steve and flopping across the end of Steve’s bed like he owns the place. “You gonna go on a second date?” 

Steve shrugs, noncommittal, as he drags a loose t-shirt over his head. There’s at least a 98% chance it was once one of Bucky’s. “Maybe. He wasn’t awful. I bet Nat’d be happy if I did.” 

“Good ol’ Steve Rogers, always willing to make the sacrifice for his friends.” It sounds an awful lot like it’s supposed to be a joke, but there’s something hard and bitter underneath that already has Steve’s hackles rising, ready for a fight. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” If Steve didn’t know better, he’d say Bucky looked and sounded  _ jealous.  _ “What, are you jealous?” 

“No, of course not.” It’s a lie. Steve can hear it in Bucky’s voice, can see it in the way Bucky looks away, mouth set into a firm line. Bucky has been Steve’s best friend for nearly as long as Steve can remember, there’s very little they can lie to each other about. 

(They have some very obvious, very large blind spots, of course, but for the most part Steve can read Bucky like a book.)

“Liar.” Steve says, watches Bucky give the slightest twitch at the word, arms crossed over his chest and expression mullish. It makes Steve grit his teeth and his ears burn at the tips with irritation. There’s no one in the world he loves more than Bucky, but there’s also no one in the world that can make him even half as mad as Bucky. “You  _ are.  _ You’re  _ jealous.  _ You don’t get to be jealous. You’re the one who’s always insisting this is a  _ friends thing.  _ That it doesn’t mean anything- that there’s no  _ fuckin strings.  _ So you don’t get to be pissy and jealous when I decide that’s not enough and I want to go out with people who actually  _ want _ to  _ date me  _ instead of just fucking me when it’s convenient _.”  _

Bucky opens his mouth like he’s going to say something and Steve speaks again before he can get a word in edgewise. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. Just, get out of my room, Buck. I need to get some sleep.” 

He doesn’t know whether he’s relieved or not when Bucky actually listens.

———

_ Someone _ ends up planning a beach trip during a heat wave and Steve ends up seated under a large beach umbrella, sunscreen smeared over every inch of him, trying not to have an asthma attack because of the heat. 

Steve likes the beach in theory. Theoretically, he thinks the beach sounds great, in reality, his body has other ideas when it comes down to it. 

Bucky’s splitting his time between chasing after Nat in the water and hovering around Steve like a worried mother, acting like they haven’t spent the past week tense and on edge around each other after Steve blew up. 

“You should reapply.” Bucky says as he flops down into the sand beside Steve. He waves the bottle of sunscreen about before jabbing Steve in the side with it until Steve finally takes it. 

“Yes, Mom.” Steve snipes and starts applying the sunscreen.

“I get that that’s supposed to be insulting somehow, but Sarah Rogers was a saint.” 

“She musta been. She liked you after all.” 

“I’m a fuckin  _ delight,  _ and you know it. When you’re not mad at me you even acknowledge it sometimes.” 

“I think you’re confusing me with someone else. I’d never admit to you being a delight.” Steve says and passes the sunscreen back to Bucky before turning his back to the other man. “C’mon, get my back. And I’m not  _ mad _ at you.” 

“Coulda fuckin fooled me.” Bucky obeys Steve’s direction, smoothing sunscreen over Steve’s back in long strokes. 

“I’m  _ not.”  _

“You  _ are.  _ And we should talk about it, about what you said.” 

Talking about it is the last thing Steve wants to do. He doesn’t see why they can’t just pretend Steve never blew up and move on. Ignoring one’s problems is the way to success in life, right? 

“Later. We’ll talk about it later. This isn’t the time or place, Buck.” Steve says, despite himself. He just knows Bucky will hold him to it. They’ve always been equally stubborn, and Bucky manages to get even worse if he thinks something’s bothering Steve. 

“Alright. We’ll talk about it later then.” Bucky says like it’s a promise before he’s working his hands into the knots at the top of Steve’s back, even though he’s long done rubbing the sunscreen in. 

Steve goes boneless and lets his eyes slip shut, which is apparently just the opportunity for Nat to pounce and throw a bucket of ocean water onto Steve’s head. 

Steve’s up and after her in a second, chasing her across the sand. It’s likely to end in an asthma attack, and even if it doesn’t, he’ll be in pain later, but Steve learned years ago that when dealing with his abysmal health he had to sacrifice sometimes and trade the pain for actually getting a chance to  _ live  _ occasionally. 

——

Later comes much sooner than Steve wanted it to. It comes that night, when he’s sprawled face down across his and Bucky’s couch, already pinking up from the exposure to the sun despite the copious amounts of sunscreen he’d applied throughout the day. He’s exhausted, but it’s the good type somehow, the sort that comes from a day spent with friends instead of mucking through work. 

Bucky takes all of this as the perfect moment to strike. 

“So.” 

“So?” Steve asks, turning his head to stare up at Bucky where he’s sat himself on the coffee table. 

“We need to talk. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but apparently communication is a thing that’s key to any sort of relationship.” 

“Really? I hadn’t heard. This is entirely new information to me.” Steve stays entirely straight faced, words tinged with a fair bit of sarcasm. 

Bucky rolls his eyes at him and reaches out to cuff Steve’s head. “You know I’m a real moron, Stevie.” 

“Truer words have never been spoken.” 

“Then  _ why  _ did you expect me to be able to read your damn mind and know you weren’t happy with how things were?” 

Steve stares. He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens it again. Jabs a finger at Bucky. “You- You-  _ Dammit.”  _

“Contrary to the rumor that starts up at least once a year, we don’t actually have some sort of telepathic bond that allows me to know what the hell is going on in that fool head of yours. I didn’t know you weren’t happy with how things were until you started letting Nat send you on all those stupid dates.” 

“They were  _ awful.”  _ Steve admits, sagging into the couch. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t want that anymore?” Bucky’s mouth is set in a firm line, arms curled over his chest almost defensively and Steve realizes all at once that Bucky’s  _ hurt.  _ Steve not telling Bucky  _ hurt him  _ and Steve’s heart sinks at that sudden realization. 

“I didn’t want to make things weird.” Steve says, finally sitting up. He feels too vulnerable, laying down and having this conversation. 

Bucky looks like Steve slapped him. “You thought I’d be weird if you didn’t want to sleep with me? Jesus fuckin christ, Stevie.” 

“Jesus,  _ fuck, no.”  _ Steve rushes to reassure, because that’s not it and he can’t let Bucky think that’s it, that Steve would ever expect Bucky to be anything other than understanding if it was just that Steve didn’t want to sleep with him. 

“Then  _ why _ ?”

And god, Steve would really like a drink to deal with this shit. 

He’s not sure he’s enough of an adult to be dealing with this kind of thing. He’s pretty sure he read somewhere his brain is  _ still  _ developing. Sure it might have been on facebook and it was shared by Annoying Rodger from work who has some weird thing about his first name and Steve’s last but the point remains, Steve is not capable of handling this. Bucky, he knows, is going to let Steve down  _ so easy  _ when he tells him. He’s going to say, yeah of course he loves Steve, just not in  _ that way,  _ and this had been just for  _ fun,  _ and he’s  _ sorry,  _ and Steve is not ready to hear that. 

“Because I’m in love with you.” There. No one can ever say Steve Rogers doesn’t face his problems head on. (Natasha, Steve knows, would claim that Steve has spent nearly half his life ignoring this particular problem.) 

Steve’s declaration is followed by a silence that’s much too long for Steve’s liking. He can feel his heart pounding in his ears, and the feeling of dread grows with every breath between his words and Bucky’s reaction. 

Finally, Bucky seems to process and Steve watches his expressions change as he works it out. From shocked to confused to incredulous. “You. I. You’re  _ in love  _ with me?” And then, because he’s an  _ asshole,  _ Bucky dissolves into near hysterical laughter. 

Steve glares and punches him in the arm. “Don’t be an asshole. I’m pretty sure your mother raised you better than to laugh at my misery instead of letting a guy down easy.” 

Bucky seems to sober a little at that. “Steve. Stevie. You’re an idiot-“ 

“Thanks. That makes me feel  _ so  _ much better. You’re an asshole, Buck, I don’t know why-” 

“I’m not letting you down easy.” 

“I even want you…” Steve trails off when what Bucky said actually manages to work itself out in his brain. “Wait, what? You’re not?” 

“No, I’m not.” Bucky shifts forward off of the coffee table he’d been using as a seat and into the spot next to Steve. There’s a brief moment’s hesitation, and then he’s tugging Steve closer into his side, Steve tucked up under Bucky’s arm in the natural order of things. “I thought you didn’t want to be with me anymore.” He adds, voice soft enough that it makes Steve pull away just enough that he can get a good look at Bucky’s face and spot the  _ relief  _ that’s there plain as day. 

“James Buchanan Barnes, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you love me back.” There’s a bit of teasing in Steve’s tone, but he’s pretty sure Bucky of all people will be able to see past that, to the relief that mirrors Bucky’s. 

Bucky snorts and turns his head, presses his face into the side of Steve’s head and places a kiss there. “Good thing you know better then, huh punk?” 

“Oh yeah, wouldn’t want me getting the wrong impression here, now would we?” 

“Can’t have that.” Bucky agrees and kisses Steve when he tips his head up, seeking one out. He drags his mouth lower, nipping at Steve’s jaw and drawing out a soft breathy noise. “I’m in love with you too, if that wasn’t clear.” He says, the words coming out pressed against Steve’s skin. 

“Gee, I’d have never figured that one out if you hadn’t clarified.” Steve can’t even force the proper amount of sarcasm into his words and he’s smiling wide enough that there’s a small part of him worried about the old adage about his face getting stuck that way. 

“I take everything back, you’re an asshole.” 

“Too late.” 

“Well shit, guess I’ll have to make the best of being stuck with you then.” 

Steve rolls his eyes at his best friend, twists his fingers in the man’s long hair and tugs him in to kiss him breathless. If it happens to be a particularly effective way of shutting Bucky the hell up, well, Steve’s not at all opposed to taking advantage of it. 

——

“So, basically, we’ve spent  _ years  _ being idiots.” 

“Basically.” 

“How could you have ever thought I  _ just _ wanted to screw around with you?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you were always like ‘It doesn’t have to mean anything, Stevie.’ and ‘People fool around all the time without it meaning something, right?’ and any other number of things that implied you  _ just wanted to fool around.”  _

“I didn’t want you feeling pressured!” 

“Yeah, that might have worked a little  _ too  _ well, Buck.”

\-----

_ One Month Later _

Pain. There is only pain. Pain and the taste of death in Steve’s mouth and something heavy and overly warm draped across Steve’s body. 

He’s pretty sure he’s going to suffocate to death. This is it, the end is nigh. 

There’s a groan from directly above him, and it rumbles in his ear loud enough that Steve futily shoves at the source of it in an attempt to get it away from his hungover body. It only succeeds in getting the source to cling closer, and Steve’s about to accept his fate when both his and Bucky’s phones start pinging with rapidly received texts. 

Steve cringes at the noise, but praises whatever higher power is out there when Bucky finally rolls off of him and out of the bed to search for their phones and Steve can breathe again. He loves Bucky, but he doesn’t want him as a human blanket when he feels like death warmed over. Especially not when Bucky goading him into those last few drinks is probably why he feels that way. 

Finally,  _ thankfully,  _ the phone’s stop making noise and Bucky tosses Steve’s phone to him. Steve makes an unintelligible noise and doesn’t bother trying to catch it, letting the phone land on his chest with a soft thump. 

“This is spousal abuse.” Steve complains, and glares balefully at his phone when it buzzes with another incoming text. 

“I know, I’m the worst ever.” Bucky says as he climbs back into bed, already turning cheerful. The  _ asshole _ . He never suffers nearly as much as Steve does after a night out. 

“The  _ worst.”  _ Steve agrees solemnly and turns his face up for a kiss when Bucky leans in to steal one. 

“Absolutely horrible. It’s a mystery why you’re dating me.” It’s a joke, Steve knows that, but there’s just enough honesty in Bucky’s voice when he says it that Steve feels the need to reassure. He figures that after years of misunderstandings, there should be no doubt about Steve loving Bucky. 

Steve ignores the spinning in his head when he sits up, and swings a leg over Bucky’s hips so that he’s straddling him. “I dunno, must be how great you are in the sack.” He dips his head down to press a quick kiss to Bucky’s jaw. “Or y’know, that whole being in love with you thing. Could be that. Who really knows though?” 

“Definitely the first. “ Bucky says, hands sliding up over Steve’s hips. “I’m pretty legendary in the bedroom, after all.” 

“And you’re so modest about it, too.” Steve presses another quick kiss to Bucky’s lips and then one to the very tip of his nose, because whatever, he’s allowed now. It’s Sunday morning, and he’s in bed with Bucky, he’s allowed to be what others might call disgustingly adorable. 

“Sap.” Bucky mutters at the kiss, and pulls Steve so that he’s laying down, more or less draped across Bucky with Bucky’s arms curled around Steve’s waist. 

“No worse than you.” Steve insists, his own point punctuated by the kiss he feels pressed to the top of his head. 

It feels good, Steve decides, to spend his morning curled up with Bucky. 

Eventually, Bucky will insist on getting up and making breakfast. Steve will go through the messages piled up on his phone and find more than a few photos taken by Natasha last night that no one managed to catch her taking. Steve will end up saving three of the pictures to his phone, one of which captures Steve and Bucky, heads bent together and clearly paying no attention to anyone around them. He’ll make that one his phone background because he truly is a goddamned sap. 

Steve will spend the afternoon working on a portrait of old Mrs. Mendelsohn’s extremely fat Scottish Fold, Boris, and ignoring Bucky trying to distract him from it. Eventually, Bucky will give up on distracting Steve with usual tactics and attempt to convince Steve that what they need in their life is a cat of their very own. (Steve will refuse, but six months from now, when a skinny stray shows up on their fire escape, he’ll open the window and let them stay.) 

They’ll order in Chinese that night, and Steve will look at Bucky over dinner eaten directly from shared cartons and for a moment be struck by how  _ content _ he is. Things aren’t perfect, and Steve knows enough of the world to know they never will be, but he has a life with Bucky, one they’ve been sharing even before they were dating. They’ve been  _ SteveandBucky  _ for longer than they were ever Bucky and Steve separately, and sure, Sam would claim that reeks of codependency, but Steve’s never really had a problem with it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come chill with me on [tumblr](im-notlookingback.tumblr.com) and ask me questions about this fic's universe, cause I don't think I'm entirely done with it yet.


End file.
